So this is what I've done instead of the next chapter of my SYOT. The movie was fantastic, as every should be well aware of by now, but I was a tad upset that they cut Cato finding Clove at the feast...
"Aw, look at the little shrimp." Alexanders laugh is loud, but his voice carries faint tones of brutality. I clench my jaw and turn to appraise his victim. She's tiny, her dark hair sticking to her forehead in a nervous sweat, and can't be much older than seven. I shake my head and take a deep breath. Alex just likes to make the younger kids feel unwelcome, but he's harmless. Usually.
"Little newbie thinks she can just take my knife and get away with it?" His voice is crueler now, and I turn again. The girl has regained some composure. Her chest still rises and falls quickly, but her small fist grips a knife tightly. She cocks her head to the side slightly, feigning arrogance, but her voice is shaky. "Of course I can."
Alex lunges forward and her arm moves like lightning, throwing the knife in his direction. It's a direct hit. He stares uncomprehendingly down at the knife protruding from his thick full body armor and chuckles lightly. The girl stands staring at the knife, but her eyes flick to his eyes when he sneers out "You don't want to make an enemy of me."
"All right, all right, that's enough." I stride in between them and yank the knife out of his armor, shoving it back into his hand. "Go pick on someone your own size, Alex."
"Like you?" He smirks again and places his hands on my shoulders. Before he has a chance to draw me in, I duck out from under him and in less than a second, he's flat on his back, gasping on the training mat below us. I kneel down to look him right in the eye.
"Yes, like me." I stand and stride away, but the girl remains at his side. With a sigh, I take the two steps back and steer her away from him. "You might want to pick your fights a little more wisely."
"I had it under control." She murmers, and I can't help the laugh that escapes me.
"Oh really? So you noticed the axe strapped to his back and thought you'd be fine? The armors good, but a strong enough blow to the chest and you'd be gone in a second."
"I'm Clove." I glance over at her, and her hand is extended in my direction. I regard it cooly for a moment and then take her hand in mine.
"Cato."
Final examination day. The day before the reaping. The day before two lucky kids lives are going to change. Today, we will pit the girls who wish to go to the Games against each other, and likewise for the boys. Two will remain, and those two will volunteer for whoever is drawn tomorrow.
Clove stands at the end of the girls line, the smallest out there. The boards have her as second to last in terms of odds. It isn't often that a sixteen year old wins these, but she's adamant about winning this year.
We stand prepared for the races. They use these to weed out most of the contenders. Only the top fifteen in each gender will go on, and then hand to hand combat will determine the winners. I come in third in my race, but Clove blows everyone out of the water, finishing more than ten seconds before the runner up. She comes up to me panting afterwards and I clap a hand on her shoulder.
"Nice running, shrimp." She sticks her tongue out at me and prepares for the matches. They do the girls and boys separately, so no one will know the results of the others until later that night.
I flex out of habit as I take on my first opponent. He's scrawny, but he's fast. He came in first in the races, and I've seen him dodge even Cloves fastest knives. Regardless, strength wins out as I pin him to the ground minutes later, barely winded. He shrugs and I let him up, shaking hands as is customary.
"Good luck, Cato." He waves goodnaturedly as he disappears. I suspect he never wanted to go into the games at all.
The next few challengers are simple. Strength always wins out in the end, and before I know it I'm standing on the mat for the final match. This boy and I are almost matched for strength, but he's even more arrogant than me. The second the bell tolls, he charges.
I evade his first strike easily, sidestepping his next three advances. For minutes, I wear him down until I can detect the fatigue in his limbs. He's almost too easy to take down after that, falling after only four strikes.
"Congratulations, Cato." The instructor walks up to me and places a hand on my shoulder while my opponent strides away, throwing his sword down in anger. "We'll be awaiting your return." I return the smile and push out of the room to find the girls are still competing.
I promised I would wait and so wait I do. Finally, Clove emerges, a huge smile plastered on her face. She vaults towards me quickly, launching into my arms. As she untangles herself from me, I can hear shouting from the inside of training room. Clove notices my confused face.
"I beat Ashlyn." Ashlyn is the trainers daughter and at eighteen, this is her last year of eligibility in the Games. Clove grins. "She didn't take it well." Another trainer comes up and congratulates us, giving us details that we already anticipate, and then smiling at us.
"Don't forget the party tonight!" Of course. It's District Two tradition to throw an elaborate party before every reaping, to celebrate the tributes headed to represent us. "It's going to be the best yet!" She pipes.
That it is. The food is better than I remember from any previous year, the music louder, the dancing more hypnotic. As one of the tributes I'm the prime bachelor in the District. I dance and flirt and laugh and talk to dozens of admiring girls, but at the end of the night, I find myself walking Clove home.
"A week." She says, her heels dangling from her fingertips.
"Huh?" I kick a rock in the road and it strikes a lightpost with a metallic ding.
"We'll be in the arena in a week. A month, and it'll all be over." She swallows, and I turn to her.
"Don't think about that. Think about the honor, the glory. Think about c-"
"I can't." She shakes her head. "You don't get it, it's fine."
"I don't get what?" Clove had talked like this before, as if the Games are a bad thing. Maybe if I were in a different position I might think they were, but I was raised on them. I was raised on fighting and analyzing. I was raised at the Academy, where failure is not an option.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter."
"Yeah, well." I trail off awkwardly and we start walking again. We haven't gone far when Clove gives a little gasp and tumbles to the ground, Ashlyn on top of her. The older girl is grinding her face in the dirt roughly, her feet kicking against Cloves legs, and without thinking I pick her up around the waist. She's flailing in my arms so I set her back down quickly. She takes a fighting stance, but Clove has no intention of coming towards her yet.
"Are you crazy?" I look at Ashlyn disdainfully. She spits hair out of her mouth.
"This was my last year. My last shot, and you blew it for me!"
"You blew it for yourself." Clove sits up and coughs weakly, struggling to her feet and brushing dirt and blood from her face. "You know what I can do, better than anyone." Her eyes flash and her voice lowers dangerously. "I'll be thinking of you in the arena. How I'll come home and get the glory that should have belonged to you. How the Capitol will remember my name, not yours. How even your father will prefer me." Ashlyn lunges forward again and this time Clove is ready for her. Before they can kill each other, I step forward.
"That's enough." I say firmly. I turn to Ashlyn. "They'll put you on trial if you hurt her anymore than you already have." She relaxes her face and takes a step back.
"Good luck, Cato. I'm hoping you come back." She stares straight at Clove as the words ring out, and for the first time I really realize that only one of us is coming home. Clove turns to look at me fiercely. It's at this moment that I realize that she intends for it to be her.
Despite my growing confidence of my chances in the Games, several things keep me up the night before they begin. I pace the halls of our floor, my mind wandering to the training score of the girl from Twelve. Clearly she excels at whatever that is, if she beat me. Besides that, what if the Cornucopia doesn't have a sword? I'm confident with most weapons, but my chances are very much increased without a sword. The weapon is like an extension of myself, another limb. My odds of survival exponentially decrease without it. My worry is only interrupted by soft sounds from a room down the hall from mine. I stand outside the door for a while until I identify it as Clove.
When I walk in, she starts and looks up at me. In a split second I register the tearstains on her face and the sheets tangled around her torso. I've never been all that good with feelings, so I shift from foot to foor awkwardly in the doorway. She looks at me though, her face so broken and scared and conflicted that I can't help but take a few steps closer before I remind myself that in a few hours, I'll be locked in an arena with this girl, who will go from my best friend to my enemy. She gives a little hiccup and wipes at her nose.
"Don't." Her voice cracks and she stares down at her toenails, painted black by the stylists.
"Don't what?" She just laughs darkly and wipes at her face. "Um…Do you want me to go get Enobaria?" She jolts slightly and shakes her head furiously.
"No, no, I'm fine." I take another few steps forward.
"No you're not." She looks up at me, her eyes brimming with tears again, and I throw caution out the window and sit down on the edge of the bed. She stares at me sadly for a few seconds, and then scoots forward to wrap her arms around my middle. Without hesitation I hug her back, my hand stroking the slightly damp hair at her neck. I can hear her sniffling again and comfort her.
Hours later we're both still awake, our hands entertwined as we lay on our backs. Clove stopped crying about an hour ago, and we've been sitting in silence since.
"You know I'm going to try to win, right?" She breaks the silence with words I've known since Ashlyns attack.
"Yeah, I know." I stretch out a little. "I am too."
"Glad we're on the same page." I can hear the smile in her voice. "We're still allies though, right?"
"Of course. Until the final five." That was the agreement we'd decided on.
"Then it's a free for all." She finishes for me. I turn to look at her.
"If I can't, I want you to win." I say. She smiles and leans a little closer to me.
"Same." I wrap my arms around her again.
I wake up a few hours later, unaware that I've even fallen asleep. Brutus and Enobaria stand over me, looking disappointed as they stare down. Clove is huddled in my arms, facing me, with her face pressed into my chest and her fingers clutching my shirt. I draw back from her a little, gently shaking her awake. When her eyes open, she follows my gaze up to our mentors.
"Well," She says goodnaturedly "This is awkward."
Food.
Since that bitch blew up our supplies, that's all we've thought about. Our stomachs have been growling for the past few days despite the few rabbits we've been lucky enough to kill. Luckily we have claims over the lake so water hasn't been an issue. Clove stands up, staring at the sky as the announcement for the feast rings out. As soon as it cuts off she turns to me.
"We have to go." I'm nodding already, but there's a nagging at the back of my mind.
I stare down at my hands, caked with dirt and the blood of more than one tribute. "Someone always dies at feasts."
"Well, not us. We'll be fine. We've got weapons, and we've got each other. We can both win this thing and go home."
"Possibly." I nod. "So what's our plan?"
"We split up. I'm faster than you, so I'll grab the supplies while you scout for the others."
"No!" I lurch to my feet. "Twelve will probably be there. The lovebirds are mine!"
"Come on, Cato. You go in there, you get caught, you die. It's that simple. You're too slow." I try to weakly contest this, but she's right. Still, I worry. She's small, and the thought of the District 11 brute catching her makes me cringe. "I'll make sure to give the audience a good show." She smiles sadistically and I don't doubt that she's lying.
"Fine. Fine. But you call me if you need help, got it? I'll stay close enough." She rolls her eyes and opens her jacket, showing me her impressive array of knives.
"Trust me, I won't need help." Her confidencemakes me laugh, and I offer to take the first watch.
The sun rises and she rouses me. We crouch at one end of the meadow that holds the Cornucopia and confirm the plans. I give her one last long look.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" She whispers.
"We can both make it, you know." I mutter back. She avoids my gaze, but her fingers scramble around in the leaves to find mine. She squeezes tightly and I grip back before standing. She looks up at me, her hair blowing softly in the wind, squinting up at me with a smirk playing on her lips, and gives me one nod before focusing back on the Cornucopia.
I walk through the woods as quietly as I can, my eyes peeled for any sign of another tribute, but I find none. I wander farther and farther out, sure that Lover Boy would be close to the action. I know where I cut him, and the odds of him getting this far are rare, but who knows what his District partner is capable of? She could be a healer in her District, and know just the right way to fix him up. Maybe that's how she got her eleven. My mind wanders to all the possibilities of what her weapon is, and I find myself deeper in the woods than I meant to go. I stop and stare around at the trees, certain that I'm close to something, when her first cry echoes over the arena.
"Cato! Cato!" There's such pain in her voice that I don't even pay mind to tributes who may be close by. I crash through the trees without any second thoughts, breaking twigs and snapping branches. "Clove!" The cry tears itself out of my throat painfully, but I'm too far away to help. Whatever trouble she's in, I'm too far away to help. I promised her that I'd stay close, and I'm too far away to help. I pour on the speed, the light of the meadow growing closer and closer through the thick trees in front of me.
As I break through, the scene unfolds quickly. The girl from Twelve is disappearing through the trees on the other side, while the boy from Eleven is jogging off with two packs clutched in his hands, both his and mine. Both the tribute and the pack from Five are gone. But Clove, my dear Clove, my best friend and my fellow tribute, is lying on the ground near the mouth of the Cornucopia, unmoving. I cry out her name again, softer this time, and crouch by her side.
"Clove," My voice cracks as I look down at her. She's still, but her chest is moves rapidly up and down. "Clove! Please, please Clove, stay. Stay with me. Don't leave, Clove." A tear drips down my cheek and I know that by showing weakness I've probably just lost any sponsors that I still have, but I don't care. "Clove." My voice breaks again, and my fingers find the dent in her skull, the injury that's destined to kill her. "Clove, I need you here. I need you to stay." She looks up at me with eyes that are not so much breaking as already broken, and her lips move slowly, so slowly that I have to lean down until they're practically touching my ear to make out what she's saying.
"Make it count." I can feel her pressing a knife gently into my hand, and then her eyes go blank and a cannon booms across the arena. Everything seems to go still. The birds stop singing, the leaves stop rustling, the wind stops moving. I lean back and look down at her, my Clove, so still and unmoving and lifeless, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her eyes still open, staring at the roof of the arena, her last grimace of horror plastered on her face. Through my tears, it's all I can do to reach forward and slide her eyes closed.
I lean forward and press my forehead against hers, my hands cupping the face I knew so well. I remain like that for as long as I dare, knowing that at any moment one of the tributes could return. When I finally release her, every emotion besides determination is gone, leached out into the morning air. I stare at the dent in her skull, the injury that ended her life, and know without a doubt that as much hatred as I have for Twelve, this wasn't their doing. The only person in the arena strong enough to cause something like that is Eleven. I turn reflexively towards the fields of wheat, his domain since the very first gong, and grip the knife that was Cloves last gift tightly in my hand.